as pierced with loop-holes. Its windows and recesses were filled
with images of Hercules, Alexander, and other ancient worthies, richly
gilt and painted. In long array, in the plain beyond, twenty-eight
hundred tents stretched their white canvas before the eyes of the
spectator, gay with the pennons, badges, and devices of the various
occupants; while miscellaneous followers, in tens of thousands,
attracted by profit or the novelty of the scene, camped on the grass and
filled the surrounding slopes, in spite of the severity of
provost-marshal and reiterated threats of mutilation and chastisement.
Multitudes from the French frontiers, or the populous cities of
Flanders, indifferent to the political significance of the scene,
swarmed from their dingy homes to gaze on kings, queens, knights, and
ladies dressed in their utmost splendor. Beggars, itinerant minstrels,
venders of provisions and small luxuries, mixed with wagoners,
ploughmen, laborers, and the motley troop of camp-followers, crowded
round, or stretched themselves beneath the summer's sun on bundles of
straw and grass, in drunken idleness. No better lodging awaited many a
gay knight and lady who had travelled far to be present at the
spectacle, and were obliged to content themselves with such open-air
accommodation. Backward and forward surged the excited and unwieldy
crowd, as every hour brought its fresh contingent of curiosity or
criticism in the shape of some new-comer conspicuous for his fantastic
bearing or the quaint fashion of his armor. Each new candidate for the
love and honor of the ladies, for popular applause, or less noble
objects, was greeted with shouts and acclamations as he succeeded in
distinguishing himself from the throng by the strangeness or splendor of
his appointments. Christendom had never witnessed such a scene. The
fantastic usages of the courts of Love and Beauty were revived once
more. The Mediaeval Age had gathered up its departing energies for this
last display of its favorite pastime--henceforth to be consigned,
without regret, to "the mouldered lodges of the past."

At the time that Henry set sail for Calais, Francis started from
Montreuil for Ardres. It was a meagre old town, long since in ruins, the
fosses and castle of which had been hastily repaired. He was attended on
his route by a vast and motley multitude. No less than ten thousand of
this poor vagrant crew were compelled to turn back, by a proclamation
ordering that no